Broken
by Crysania
Summary: Part 2 of the Catatonic!Belle series. Emma breaks the curse. Sequel to Secrets.


Emma has left with Regina, her father's sword clutched awkwardly in her hand. Gold knows she's a handgun sort of person, modern, with a good grasp on reality. He's sending her off to fight a fantasy, to fight a creature that only exists in her books and movies. He's about to break that firm grasp on reality that Emma has. And he doesn't regret it for one moment.

As soon as they're out the door, the little bells jingling as it shuts hard behind them, Gold is retreating to the back room. There's time to go after them, to find the true love potion he needs at the well. For now, Belle needs him.

As she has needed him for so many years. He barely remembers his time at the castle with her, when she was bright-eyed and curious. He remembers her reading. He remembers her neglecting the duties he had supposedly brought her there for. But there have been many years between that.

Most passed in a blur of depression and unease, of a hardened heart and anger and quiet bullying of the townsfolk. But the last few months have not, instead forcing him to turn inward, one of only two people in town who actually _knows_ who they are.

And he knows the woman in the back of his shop. He's been given a rather long and sordid back story, of arguments, of coldness, of locking her out of the house when she went out late at night with her friends. The town had despised him and had sought to protect his Belle, to pull her away from him.

They had succeeded. On a night when he had been simply vicious with her, when they had fought like never before, he had told her to go on ahead and leave, leave him behind, leave the town. Her friends had packed her up and with tears rolling down her cheeks, his Belle had left him.

She had been returned to him as she was now, a shell of woman, catatonic, sitting in the rocker in the back of his shop or sleeping on the cot he carries her to every night despite his twisted foot. He worries nearly constantly that this is the state Regina had reduced her to _before_ the curse, that there is simply nothing left of the Belle who once brightened his castle and his life.

He has tried to get the truth out of Regina, tried to find out if this is part of the curse or the reality of who Belle _is_ now. The former he delights in, for soon Emma Swan will break the curse and he will have his Belle back, bright and whole. He doesn't fool himself into believing she'll stay with him once she's back, but after seeing her like this for so many months, so many _years_ he reminds himself, just knowing she's well would be enough. _Almost_.

The latter he tries to push from his mind. He will deal with that if it becomes reality. _But it won't_. He has to believe that. If he believes otherwise, if he has sullied yet another beautiful thing in his life with his mere presence, it will be simply _too much_.

"Belle," he whispers, kneeling down at her side, situating his legs to keep the weight off his bad foot. "Emma's going to do it. She's going to kill a dragon and break the curse. Can you feel it?" He reaches out, touches her cold hand. "We're _so close_ I can almost taste it." He brushes the hair away from her face, reveling in the soft tresses. Those haven't changed at least, though knows he never touched them in the Dark Castle. But he has memories of this world, of passionate kisses and making love by the fire, of light and laughter and the soft feel of her hair as his fingers run through it. They're false of course. He has never been intimate with Belle, but the memories locked inside his mind are as real as any others he has. It's a strange thing, really. If she wakes up…no…when…_when_ she wakes up, she will not have those memories. He's sure that Regina will have kept them from her. Why give memories to someone you never expect to wake up, after all?

He stands, touching her shoulder briefly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. He knows soon he won't be able to do that. She will either wake up and remember all that came before, remember the monster throwing her out into the forest alone with little more than the clothes on her back or nothing will change and he will be faced with a permanently catatonic Belle.

He's not even sure his magic could cure that. He hopes he won't have to try. Regina should hope he doesn't have to try either. If he does, she's as good as dead. She may be as good as dead _anyway_ depending on what she did to Belle before he found her the day he woke up, the day he realized he had been with her for the 28 years of the curse.

"I need to leave you now, sweetheart." He doesn't think she can hear him, but he's gotten used to speaking to her regardless. "I need to retrieve that potion. I know…_magic_. But I need it, darling. I won't be long, I promise."

He leaves then, doesn't look back. It gets harder all the time to turn away from her. The image of her sitting unmoving in that chair is burned into his brain. He's not sure he'll ever forget it, even if (_when_, he reminds himself) she wakes up.

It's not too long when he returns, decorative egg in hand. He can feel the power humming from within it already. The curse is _so close_ to being broken. Belle still sits in her chair. With everything changing around them, he's often hoped to see _something_ from her. A small twitch, a moment where she looks lucid. But nothing. She sits in her chair, unmoving. He wipes the drool from her mouth and reads to her and holds her cold body close to his.

But now the curse is so close to being broken. Already he can imagine the phone calls going out to Emma Swan and Regina, telling them of Henry's demise. Emma will save him, of course. And in doing so, she'll save them all.

He hopes she'll save Belle.

Pulling up a chair close to Belle's side, he puts the decorative egg on his lap and inserts the key. "This is the key to it all, sweetheart. Magic." Here he pauses. He can hear her voice so clearly inside his head that he forgets it's been decades since he's heard it. "I know. What do I need magic for? We'll get to that. When you're better, I'll tell you all about my boy, my Baelfire." He turns the key. "You'd like him. He'd like _you_. You're very much alike, you know." The egg slides open and there it is, glowing purple. It seems out of place, there in his pawnshop in a land that has no magic. Yet it's a powerful magic all its own. True love. He holds it up for inspection, wondering for a moment if he simply doused Belle in it if it would make her come back. But no. He has to wait or the curse to break, for their own true love to work its particular magic.

He pockets the potion. "There's something I must do, Belle. And soon." He reaches out a hand and touches hers gently. He starts to rise, but then sits back down heavily. "I can't leave you though, can I?" He offers up a short bark of laughter, but had anyone been listening they would have heard the pain behind the laugh. "Of course I can't."

He'll have to make his way to the well soon. The potion needs to be added to the well water soon after the curse is broken. He had thought of heading out there, to be ready at the well when the curse breaks, but he finds he cannot leave his Belle. He cannot let her wake up alone. And worse, he cannot let her _not_ wake up alone.

This is his grief, his cost for the curse. Lose the woman he loves to gain the son he lost so long ago. It hardly seems fair, but magic does always have a price, sometimes quite a steep one. He is no more immune to that than anyone else.

"There will be time for that," he murmurs and tucks the potion into an inside pocket of his coat. "Oh, sweetheart." He bows low over her hand, grips it tight, presses a damp kiss to the back of her chilled skin.

It's at that moment that he feels a rush of something, a wave of heat and ice and wind that rips through him and the pawnshop. It leaves everything intact but as he sits up again, everything seems just a little bit brighter, a little sharper. His mind seems even more focused and the memories of Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and landlord, begin to fade. They won't leave him entirely. He knows this. They will all have two sets of memories to contend with. The curse marks you. Even the creator is not immune to its ongoing effects.

After the dizziness passes, he grips Belle's hand harder in his and looks up at her.

She has not moved. Her eyes still stare straight ahead, her head slightly tilted downward. Her hand remains limp in his. He continues to watch her, but soon the earnest, hopeful look starts to fade out of his eyes. His eyebrows lower and finally he shuts his eyes and turns from her. He releases her hand and slumps to the ground at her side. "Oh Belle," he whispers. "This is it for us? All we'll ever have?" He can't even look at her at that moment. All his imaginings, all his hopes, all his dreams of her alive and well and bright-eyed and happy…just gone. Right there in that instant. She is nothing but a shell. And a shell she'll remain.

Regina will pay for what she's done. He vows this with everything he is. She will pay just as those who once harmed Baelfire paid. With her life. With her very soul. He will leave nothing of her left, not a shred of...

His head shoots up at the sound. A small gasp, so quiet he shouldn't have been able to hear it through his internal rage. He turns quickly, crawls on his knees back to Belle's side. His foot is on fire but that hardly matters at that moment. "Belle?" he whispers and takes one of her hand in both of his. It's warmer now, warmer than he can remember it being, warm like the time she put one hand gently on his thigh and dared to kiss the monster.

And then her eyes widen and there's _light_ in them. She moves for the first time, her hands reaching out to grip both sides of his face, tilting his head up so that his eyes meet hers. "Rumplestiltskin?" Her voice is raspy from disuse, but his name from her mouth is like heaven and hell all wrapped up in one. His throat feels tight. He cannot speak, but manages to nod, just a small motion of his head.

But it's enough. Her face breaks out into a smile and suddenly she's _human_, she's real, she's _Belle_. She's no longer a living doll. She pushes herself off the chair and comes to rest on her knees at his side. She wobbles when she hits the ground and he steadies her without thinking. "Rumplestiltskin." She shakes her head and he's sure she's about to push him away as her memories come rushing back.

"Yes," he finally manages to say, perhaps the last word he'll ever say to her. It's all he deserves, to see her as she once again walks out of his life. He's had a shell of her for 28 years, has the memories of a life with her that never existed. It's time for her to run free again. He deserves that much and more after all he has done. He cannot handle the intensity of her stare and starts to turn his head away, but her grip is too hard and she pulls his face back toward hers. He closes his eyes.

"What happened?" They aren't the words he expects.

"A curse. We were brought here for a curse. You were catatonic for 28 years." He hates the way the words sound, but it's the honest truth. Or most of it, really. He'll get to his part in the curse eventually.

She puts a hand to her head. "I remember an accident," she murmurs.

Surprise shoots through him and he reaches up to take her hands off his face, grip them in his own. He needs the connection. He needs to feel her warm and alive. "You remember?"

"Yes. I'm your…"

"Wife." He cannot help the sardonic note that creeps into his voice. "It's not real. Those memories aren't real. You don't have to…"

She creeps closer. "Rumplestiltskin." And there is a rebuke in her voice somewhere. He remembers it well from their time together at the Dark Castle. Their eyes meet and his breath catches. Her eyes are bright, a soft smile on her face. "I love you, you stupid man. I always have."

He feels one tear slide down his cheek as he nods. She loves him. Still, after all this time. "I'm a monster, Belle…"

"You're not a monster." It's a familiar refrain and he almost finds himself smiling at it..._almost_.

"I am, Belle. This curse is my fault."

"I had no doubt of it," she responds with and he is left speechless. "I'm sure you have your reasons."

"But…"

"No buts." She still has that soft smile on her face. "There will be time for that later." She squeezes his hands. "There will be time for everything."

He nods dumbly. What else can he do? Belle is back and she has not run screaming out the door of his pawnshop. She has _memories_…of their fake wedding, their fake first time, even their fake fights. It's disconcerting in a way. He had expected to be alone in those memories, that Regina wouldn't have bothered with them, but it seems the curse is more thorough than even _he_ expected.

"Rumplestiltskin?" He soft voice pulls him out of his reverie. "Can we…" She stops there, teeth worrying her lower lip and he feels it go straight through him, hitting somewhere between heart and groin.

When she doesn't continue, he urges her on. "Can we…"

"You look….different…here."

"There's no magic here Belle. Well, not yet at least." He's thankful when she doesn't question that. He's not ready for that explanation just yet.

"Then can we kiss here?" The words tumble out in a rush, as if she's embarrassed by the question or afraid of the answer.

He can think of nothing else he'd rather do in that moment, in all the moments of the future, for the rest of his immortal life. He nods and suddenly she's launching herself at him and her arms are wrapped around his neck and her mouth is pressed to his. The kiss is artless, messy, and he realizes in that moment, with Belle pressed tight against him, that everything is going to be alright.


End file.
